Twas the Night Before...

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Our buckets were stacked in the sugar shack with care.
With snow on the eaves, I prayed the season soon would be here.

The girls all tucked, snug in their beds,
where visions of maple syrup and pancakes danced in their heads.
And papa resting easy, while I counted taps
We'd just settled down with a liquid night cap.

When out by the sugar shack there rose such a cladder,
I ran out to the backyard to see what was the matter.
Away to the fence, I flew like a flash
Lifted the latch, to only slip with a crash.

Above me, the moon shining on the new-fallen snow
Reminded me of the clear luster of sap, at the peak of the flow
When what to my wondering eye should I spy
Burr Morse carrying a maple cream pie.

He was weathered and cheerful, a right jolly old soul
And I smiled when I saw him. I'd read his book,
after all.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave be to known, I had nothing to dread.

That man is a sugarmaker
A master, a magician
Evaporating sap down to syrup
Sugar on snow? Oh, just a dollop!

"Oh, ptcakes my girl, there's much more than sugarmaking!"
"Mr. Morse..."
"Call me Burr..."
"I'm sincerely begging to differ."

"It's the snow, the clear air, the early morning boils.
It's the sweet smell of maple, that makes my heart unroil."
"ptcakes, I've been a sugarmaker for many a year.
Since knee high to the pan, I know how you feel."

"Then you know, that come fall, of the weekly countdown.
The checking of buckets, the sorting of lids
Setting up the burner and filling the tanks."

"Oh, yes... I do know... (even though we now use tubing.)
And I'd invite you visit, To see our operation...
And perhaps even work it.
But I know, that you know, when the sap starts to run
There are no travel trips for fun or for sun."

But now it's Christmas, the daytime temps below freezing.
With buckets and taps, next to snow shoes and mudboots.
My trees are all sleeping.

So I've come down to visit and bring you this pie.
"Oh Mr. Morse, Burr, you're one heck of a guy!"

Then with a tip of his hat, and a wave of a mitten
he bade his goodbyes, quiet as a kitten.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove North, out of sight,
"Happy Sugaring Season to all, and to all a good night."